


À bout de soufle

by orphan_account



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Children of Characters, Cole's kids aren't original but we really don't see much characterization for them in canon so, F/F, Game Spoilers, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Meh, Multi, Post-Game(s), Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracy never quite followed in her father's footsteps.</p><p>Named for the 1960 French film of the same title (or by the title 'Breathless' in English)</p>
            </blockquote>





	À bout de soufle

            The whirring of the ceiling fans filled the diner with white noise. It was only interrupted by the occasional shuffle on seats, or the clinking of utensils against plates. It _was_ the middle of the night, but the sense of emptiness was still overwhelming.

A young woman jumped in her seat as a waitress approached.

“S-Sorry, Miss, did I…?”

“Oh, no, no, I’m all good,” She nodded amicably as she spoke, a meek smile upon her face. “, Just…tired.”

The girl, in her early twenties at most, yawned to emphasize the fact.

“Oh, alright. Tell me if you need anything, dear.”

            She bowed her head again, light brown hair draping her face. The waitress left, and the monotonous quiet began again.  So much so, that the sound of the door creaking open felt like the blaring of a siren.

“Hello.”

“Good evening.” A heavily accented voice reverberated through the small space, and the seated girl stiffened.

            When she glanced to the side, another woman of her age, face framed with black curls, had taken a seat at the bar. Pink rose to her cheeks as the woman turned to face her and a familiar grin met her eyes.

“What can I do you for, Miss?” The man behind the counter muttered, obviously tired.

“Hmm… A orange juice, please, Mister?”

“Alright. Be here in a sec.”

            He shuffles away, and the woman turns her head to look behind her again. When her gaze fell on the other, she winks. The pink on her cheeks is red now, and her lips curl slightly.

“Here’s your orange juice, ma’am.”

Her head snapped back to the counter in front of her.

“Ah, thank you.”

She reaches into her pocket.

Then, she pulls her money out, sliding it across the tabletop's surface.

“Thanks.”

          Off he went, tending to other patrons while she adjusted herself in her seat. The glass clinks as she picks it up and drinks, the sound a sharp grate against one’s ear. The resulting slam of the cup as she finished on the table jolted everyone.

 “Th-That all?” The man asked.

 She responded at first by clearing her throat.

           The tawny haired woman began to feel the underside of her jacket, fidgeting until she found what she was looking for. A shaky breath escaped her mouth when the other grabbed her cup again.

 “No, actually, mister, there is one more thing…” She muttered, as politely as possible.

 With that, she chucked the glass to the floor. Shards littered the ground.

 Her curls flew wild as she hurled herself on top of the table. The other woman followed her lead and got up from her booth, feet constantly moving.

 Both with gun in hand.

 “Give me what is in the register.”

 The few people there had already scrambled under their tables, a few cursing or whimpering.

 “No.”

 She raised the weapon and a single gunshot rang through the building. The man let out a yelp. A woman screeched. When the gun pointed back to him, he began to shake.

 "Do not make this difficult for you.”

 He fumbled to the register, nearly tripping over his own feet.

 The black haired woman turned to the other.

 “The bag, Tracy?”

 “Got it.”

 She threw the sack onto the counter, and then gestured to the man.

 “Put it in there, bud. All of it.”

            He complied, hands shaking. Once the bag began to brim with bills, the girl snatched it, and then hooked her arm with the other woman’s, making her lower her gun slightly.

 “That will be all. Thank you very much.”

 That was when the two rushed out of the door, hands linked together.

           Laughter resonated through the car as the doors slammed closed and Tracy started the ignition. The engine whirred to life and she held the wheel tightly, while her companion, in hysterics, slapped her knee.

 “Did you see how much he shaked, Tracy?”

 “Shit, Addie, he looked like he was gonna drop dead,” Tracy snorted, turning the car out of the parking lot. “Didn’t have to shoot the ceiling, though.”

 “He was being insolent.”

 “We were robbing him, what did you expect him to do?”

 “Have common sense."

 “Good point. Why were you calling him ‘mister’ every two seconds?”

 “What,” Adela whined defensively, “I was nervous!”

 “You’re not supposed to be.”

 “Fuck you, it worked out fine.”

 At that, Tracy merely snickered.

           The car drove forward while the two kept giggling. They arrived at a stoplight, and Tracy jumped as her hair was brushed out of her face. Addie simply stared at her, one side of her lip turned up.

 "What’re you look—“

She pulled her closer.

 “Shhhh…”

           She pressed their lips together, and Tracy leaned into the contact immediately. A hand ran through her short hair while she sighed.  The only thing that made them pull away was the bright hue of red turning to green. She continued to drive. In her peripheral vision, she saw her lover nod her head and shift in her seat. However, her brown eyes still lingered on her. Even as she took a cigarette from her pocket and lit it, a smiling expression filled her features.

 “The fuck’s so funny?”

 Adela took a single drag, and then let out a chuckle as smoke billowed throughout the car.

 Tracy huffed when she still didn’t answer.

 “What _is_ it?”

 She held the cigarette close to her mouth, as if about to inhale more smoke, only to grin smugly.

 “Your father must be rolling in his grave, little Miss Phelps.”

 Now it was her turn to let out a snicker.

 “Let him.”

 Her response was a raise of the eyebrows and another nodding of the head.

 Silence permeated the air of the vehicle while Adela continued to smoke. She curled up her knees in the seat, holding the bag under her arm.

 “Well,” She muttered, putting the cigarette out, “San Fran?”

Tracy grinned.

"San Fran."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written for this fandom, so be gentle with me. I'm going to try updating every two weeks, but I'll need a bit of time to get the hang of it.  
> EDIT: Okay, so due to a bit of a mistake while planning, I've ended up with a lot more "stuff" in the next chapter than I thought. So, it's going to be a while till I can write all the stuff into the chapter. It's gonna be a little bit more time for me to update, but the chapter is going to be much longer. Sorry for the inconvenience.


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